They All Lived Story 63: Stricken
by LadyWordsmith
Summary: Sept '82 - Fall brings changes to the Elrics and their ever-growing extended family. In the midst of school, sports, jobs, and family time, when normalcy seems to have finally returned, events occur that with change things forever, in ways for which no one is prepared.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: These events follow five months after the kidnapping and rescue in the previous story._

* * *

**September 3****rd****, 1982**

"So Dare's gotten into almost all honors classes this year, just like you knew he would, Dad," Charisa said with a soft smile. "Camelia loves second grade, and Brandon's decided he wants to do baseball this season. He has try-outs tomorrow, and he's nervous, but Niam's been working with him and says he's got a lot of talent. Then there's that kitten of yours… yeah, I still blame you for that little orange monster. You couldn't let us live in peace when Rap finally died, could you?"

"Oh come on," Tore interrupted from behind her. "He's not that bad."

Charisa dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. "Yeah, yeah he is." She took a breath, then looked back down at the bouquet of large blue and yellow blossoms, lying fresh and peaceful in front of the gravestone. "Well, I've got to go, Dad. I'll come by again. Promise."

Tore's hand landed gently on her shoulder, and Charisa turned to bury her face in his strong shoulder. "Let's go," he said quietly after a minute. "The kids are waiting."

Charisa nodded. "Yeah, okay." His arm still around her shoulders, they walked back towards the edge of the cemetery. It was a long walk. "Thanks for bringing me by."

"Anytime you want, you know that," Tore replied. "And it's only been a month. I'm still not used to him being gone either."

"Well it was pretty sudden."

At that Tore smiled sideways at her, and gave a half-hearted laugh. "Yeah, jumping in front of a bus to save a random old woman and her granddaughter is usually considered sudden."

It was absurd, and she ought to be angry at the irreverence…. But it was military humor, and it was so something her father would have said. Charisa laughed to choke back the sob. "Yeah. He'd have loved the headlines. He got to be a hero all over again." And it wasn't as if he'd had much time left. He'd been in his nineties; his health had been going slowly downhill again. Charisa doubted he'd given it much thought as he leapt in front of a bus whose breaks had gone out –especially given leaping was not his strong point- but she knew her father would have preferred to go out the hero than just die in bed.

"He was really something." Tore chuckled.

It took several minutes to walk to the car, and Charisa spent the drive home composing herself and her thoughts. She made a point not to visit the grave too often, though she preferred coming in the quiet to the tasteful, but large, funeral that had been held with full military honors; the funeral a former President of the Military deserved. And they had been kind, and buried him right beside her mother, saving space despite how much fuller the cemetery had gotten in the years since.

"I meant what I said about the cat," she said finally, as they pulled up. "I still can't believe Dad missed that furry lump enough to bring home a kitten." A fuzzy little rescue with big blue-green eyes and thick orange-and-white striped fur.

Tore laughed as he parked the car in the driveway. "If the kids didn't play with Butterscotch so much, he'd look like an orange piglet. I'm grateful for the cat. He makes the kids laugh."

"I can't argue with that." Charisa agreed as they went inside. "Mmm…something smells good."

"Thanks!" Krista poked her head out of the kitchen. "We thought you wouldn't mind if we got a head start on cooking."

"I knew there was a reason we took you in," Tore teased their foster-daughter. Grown up and in college as she was, after living with them for three years, she still came over often.

Krista chuckled. "Well Dare's the one handling the pan-fry at the moment. So you should thank him. I'm just mixing the salad."

"What are Camelia and Brandon up to?" Charisa asked. It was far too quiet in the house.

"Oh, they're out back," Dare informed them as they walked into the kitchen, where their teenage son was, indeed, pan-frying strips of beef, broccoli, and sauce.

"Brandon talked her into playing catch so he could practice some more."

"How's that going?" Tore asked, glancing out the kitchen window into the back yard.

"Pretty well actually," Dare grinned. "Turns out she's not half bad herself."

"Maybe we'll have two ball players," Charisa smiled, joining Tore at the window. Outside she could see their son daughter playing, while the kitten tumbled about in the grass chasing late-season butterflies.

"Speaking of ball, we should turn on the game tonight," Dare reminded them. "Uncle Niam's team is playing West City."

"Oh, right." Tore grinned and headed into the living room. "We can't miss the game."

* * *

"And that's the report, General," Colonel Wexman smiled across the table as he finished.

Sara Heimler nodded, pleased. "I appreciate your thoroughness, Colonel. It makes my job that much easier." Especially after taking the train all the way from Central to sit in an office in West City for two days while they wrapped up the case. The nature of the materials required confidentiality, seeing as they were confiscated from smugglers who had been pulling alchemical artifacts out of Aerugo. The batch here seemed to have come, primarily, from Havah. A dead man's private collection. Sara looked forward to when the case was no longer confidential, and she could ask her parents if it had anything to do with their undercover mission decades ago.

"It's been interesting," Wexman assured her. "Would you like to see the collection before you go back to Central? We've got it out in Warehouse 8."

"Of course I would," Sara grinned as they both stood, pushing in chairs. "You think I would turn up that kind of opportunity?"

"Well, I never assume," Wexman replied with a shrug. "Fortunately we have time before the evening train."

Sara followed Wexman out the back door of Western HQ, and across the grounds towards the warehouses. Anticipation quickened her steps. She really didn't have long if she didn't want to miss the train home, but there was no way she was going to miss a chance to get her hands on some of the items on that list.

Wexman opened the smaller door in the large doors, and stepped inside. Sara followed just as Wexman flipped the light switch.

To their right, a different flash, followed by a sharp bang echoed through the metal building.

Immediately on the alert as Wexman fell, Sara spun to face their attacker. But whoever it was in the stack of crates had vanished from site.

The far end of the building exploded as Sara dove for cover.

* * *

The sunset outside the large windows of the Hill House spilled across the warm wooden floors of the living room in a splash of golden orange. Where it hit Ed's fluffy white dog, it turned Mal the same vibrant hue. Not that the napping dog cared.

"You lumpy rug," Ed grumbled affectionately as he stepped over Mal, whose napping spot of choice was right between the dinner table and the kitchen.

"You're the one who lets him lie wherever he wants," Winry pointed out as she carried two plates of freshly made lasagna and steamed asparagus to the table.

"Fine, you move him," Ed chuckled, setting down the silver. It was nice to have a quiet meal, just the two of them.

The phone rang as he was folding the napkins.

"Could you get that?" Winry asked, her hands full with glasses of juice.

"Sure." Ed set down what he was doing and went to the phone, stepping once more over the dog. "Hello."

"Dad?" Ethan's voice came over the line. "You've got to turn on the news."

"What's up?" Ed asked, frowning.

"Live coverage! There's been an explosion at Western Headquarters."

"Damn it." Ed almost spat into the phone. "Did they say why?"

"Just turn it on!"

"Fine. Thanks for calling." Ed hung up the phone and hurried towards the television.

"What's going on, Ed?" Winry asked, her expression one of worry.

Ed turned on the television and changed the channel over to the news.

"_-just minutes ago. The warehouse is engulfed in flames." _The picture, not the best, but live, showed the warehouse in question, and the military fire department doing their best to put it out.

"What happened?" Winry gasped, joining Ed as they stared at the destruction happening right in front of them.

"_Rumors are already flying that this planned attack was orchestrated by members of the Hashman Syndicate, which would be in line with their public anti-alchemist and anti-military sentiments. There are further unsubstantiated claims that the Syndicate was responsible for some valuable items confiscated earlier this week, the nature of which is reported classified and no officers have been willing to comment at this time." _

"Of course not," Ed snorted. No officer worth his salt was going to blab to the press.  
_  
"Though this lack of comment may be related to the fact that two of the officers reported to be involved in the case, Colonel Wexman and General Sara Heimler, were seen heading to the warehouse right before the explosion happened. Several witnesses reported gunshots from within the building just before it went off."_

Winry's next gasp matched the sudden twinge of foreboding in Ed's stomach. He found Winry's hand and squeezed it tightly in his. He waited to hear the rest of the report, and desperately wished he had a more direct line to the military. There had to be information flying faster on military channels, and it was likely to be far more accurate.

* * *

For once, almost no work was being done in the President of the Military's office. Or, perhaps to be more precise, no work unrelated to the disaster going down hundreds of miles away, when all they could do was stare at the television, and get the updates as they came in from Western Command. Though as most of those calls were going straight to Rehnquist's private line at the moment, there wasn't a whole lot for them to do.

Franz tried to stay calm in the face of what was happening. He was one of the senior-most members on Rehnquist's staff at this point in his career, and panic –even if his wife had just been reported to be heading into the building moments before it exploded- was not an option. _Come on, Sara. If you're out of there, show up. If not… you'd better damn well be doing some fabulous alchemy right now and come out of there with whoever did this wishing they'd never dared. Come on, Belle. Where are you? _

Aside from the occasional phone, answered immediately by an aide, a message taken, and run into Rehnquist's office or set aside for another time, the office was eerily silent. This, Franz had to admit, was one of the things he both liked and hated about newer technology. It was bad enough to know something awful had happened, or was happening, without being able to watch it happen right in front of him, and be helpless to do anything productive.

The reporter hadn't said a word about Wexman or Sara in several minutes, focusing more on the drama of the firefighters trying to put the fire out, and the lack of evidence of any persons fleeing the scene who might have been at fault.

Finally, the fire was under control, then going out. Then they were sending people inside. _Now we'll find her. _Franz tried to breathe normally. _She's a whiz with air shields. If they didn't get out, she'll have protected them until the firefighters could get in. She's done that before. Or she'll have ripped up the place for walls. _

But they were sure taking their sweet time. The reporter didn't know what more was going on. They wouldn't let him closer than the barricade, which was nowhere near the door of the building. So he started repeating the earlier information regarding who they believed was responsible. The Hashman Syndicate, who had just that year previously organized the kidnapping of Charles Fischer in an attempt to get at the Whitewater Alchemist.

Franz didn't pay much attention until he got a tap on the shoulder. "What is it, Major?" he looked at the man standing next to him.

"Phone for you, Sir," the younger man said, looking nervous. "Says it's from Western Command."

Franz bolted from his chair, picking up the receiver and doing his best not to blurt out the questions on his mind. "General Franz Heimler speaking."

"General, this is Colonel Armstrong. They've found your wife."


	2. Chapter 2

**September 3****rd****, 1982 (Continued) **

"This is the worst reporting ever," Ed grumbled. "Now all they're doing is repeating what we already know. Why can't we just tap a military line or something!"

"Because that's illegal?" Winry suggested, though she knew that Ed's griping was his way of hiding his fear. Fear of the same thing she was trying not to think about, not yet. Fear that Sara wasn't going to come out of that building.

Their dinner had already gone cold on the table.

"So?" Ed scoffed. "It's not like they'd notice right now. This is big! Maybe I should call Rehnquist."

"I'm sure he's getting enough calls without you bothering him," Winry said firmly. Otherwise she knew Ed would do it. And it probably wouldn't help them at all. "If anyone knows anything, they'll call us. Franz will hear something before we do. Even Trisha or Roy or James probably will if they're still at HQ." Given when this had started, she suspected that at least half their military family would have still been at work, or leaving. None of them would be anywhere they couldn't follow this story.

Ed was fidgeting bad enough it was starting to upset the dog, who had come over and rested his big head on Ed's lap. Ed rubbed his ears absently. "Bah. I've had enough!"

The phone rang.

"Finally!" Ed almost launched himself off the couch, but Winry was faster this time. "Hello?" she blurted out. "Franz? Ethan?"

"It's Trisha, Granny."

"Trisha!" Winry swallowed. Her granddaughter did not sound happy. "What's the news? What's happened? It's obvious there's something going on but the news isn't saying a word that's any use anymore."

"Granny…" Trisha's voice cracked, something Winry hadn't heard in years. "They found Mom. They called Dad. They…. Mom's dead!"

_Sara._

Winry almost dropped the phone.

Ed took it out of her hands, his face pale and stricken. He'd heard. "Trisha?" he took over. "It's Grandpa. Did they say what happened?"

"It wasn't…the fire," Trisha went on, and Winry could hear her, though it was muffled and tinny with Ed holding the phone. "Someone… someone shot her in the back of the head."

The wail of agony and shock inside of her grew until Winry was sure it must be loud enough to be heard all the way into town. Her baby girl… her sweet… it didn't matter how old she got… _Oh my baby._

She became aware slowly of arms, one cool and hard, the other soft, and mingled salty tears, and a kiss on her cheek, and Ed crying softly into her hair…and the rest of it ripped out of her like an ocean swell against the shore. Winry began to sob uncontrollably, clinging to Ed.

**September 4****th****, 1982**

The day passed in a blur for Ian. The news that his aunt was dead –shot in the back of the head of all things- was ludicrous and painful, and oddly surreal. To have such an accomplished alchemist die in such an ordinary way –for the military anyway- was like watching a badly written film. Only it was real. As much as they had quibbled from time to time, Ian had always had a special place inside for Aunt Sara. She'd let him come live with them so he could pursue his acting career, treated him as much like a son as his own mother did, right down to chastising him if he ever missed curfew.

The news last night had been such a stunner. Ian had only vague memories of actually going to bed, only the visuals. The flaming building, and late, late in the evening, the news. He'd actually gotten the call from Ted first. After that, he remembered liquor and waking up in the morning.

He was grateful that today was rehearsals only and not filming, because he could not remember putting in a worse performance. Everyone was very understanding, but Ian still felt as if he was letting them down by not being able to focus and give them his best.

When it was done, he swung by his trailer just long enough to grab the jacket he'd left their earlier and put his script away, then by wardrobe for a mandatory –though quick- dress fitting for the three costumes he would be wearing for this two-episode guest role on the soap opera _South City Nights_. At least it was starting that way. If it went over well with the ratings, he was likely to be a reoccurring occasional character as the female lead's illicit on-and-off again love affair.

Normally he would have been absolutely excited about this one. The writing was better than most.

_Damn it, Aunt Sara. How could you let some pathetic loser shoot you from behind?_

"Ian? Something wrong?"

Ian blinked, and looked down at the wardrobe girl, Bonnie, who had paused mid-pinning in making a minor adjustment to the hem of his shirt. It occurred to him that maybe she hadn't heard. Why should she equate the mess in West City with him anyway? "Sorry. Did I move?"

"No." Bonnie shook her head and went back to pinning. "You just look like someone hit your dog."

"My aunt died in the West City explosion last night."

A pin tinkled on the floor. "I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't know."

"I know you didn't. Don't worry about it." Ian would have shrugged, but with his arms out, it would have messed with the hem of the shirt.

She seemed to understand the silence that followed, and asked no more questions.

When he left, Ian made his way to the bus stop. He and Ted were having dinner with Coran and Gale tonight. It was definitely a night to be with family. He had called James at lunch, but his cousin sounded like a man obsessed, already fully involved in the work investigations was doing regarding the explosion and the deaths. Trisha had been mildly more coherent, though she had taken the day off to be with and comfort her kids.

"Well don't you look like sunshine," Ted commented as he met Ian where the bus let him off just outside Rockbell Auto-mail.

Ian looked over at his brother, who had changed out of uniform into jeans and a black t-shirt after work. Ted didn't look like he had slept any better than Ian had. "If I'm sunshine, you're daisies."

Ted cracked a weak smile that faded quickly. "It's been hell at HQ. Whitewater's got half of us helping Investigations. They've sent two more alchemists west to help with the situation there, though they're under guard. Under guard, alchemists! It's crazy. They're worried that after Charlie's kidnapping, and now Aunt Sara's murder, this Syndicate might be in a position to go after more of us and we don't know it. Some of the older guys keeping saying it's _The Scar Case_ all over again."

Ian frowned as they went up the back stairs of the shop to the apartment above. "Scar?" He wracked his brain. "Wasn't that… that Ishballan guy Grandpa talked about?"

Ted nodded. "The one who killed a pile of alchemists, and anyone who got in the way of that, over sixty years ago. Not that they think it has anything to do with Ishbal. Just the alchemist attacks have them freaked out."

"So does that mean you have a secret tail?" Ian almost looked behind him.

Ted shrugged as if it didn't bother him. "Probably." He knocked on the door.

Coran answered the door. "You're both on time."

"Don't sound surprised," Ian commented dryly as they exchanged brief, but needed, brotherly hugs.

"There was no reason for me to stay late," Ted added. "Whitewater probably didn't want me mucking up any more paperwork with inattention. Or noticing he's not doing any better himself."

Ian nodded. Uncle Cal had been friends with Aunt Sara far longer than he'd been in the family. "How's Uncle Franz?" he asked as they moved inside and closed the door.

"He's at work," Ted said quietly. "Refuses to take leave. He's working as hard on this as we are, and Investigations. Him and James both. The whole place is on fire inside trying to find these guys and make them pay. I've never seen Uncle Franz so driven or so stone-faced."

"If someone did that to my wife, I'd hunt him down and make him regret it for eternity," Coran commented very quietly.  
"Where's Gale?" Ian asked as they moved into the kitchen. "And the boys?"

"Down in the workshop," Coran replied as he went to the stove, where there was a stew bubbling. "She's keeping them distracted while she finishes up for the night."

At eight and almost-five, Gavin and Damian found their parents' auto-mail work fascinating.

"That's good," Ian said. That meant they'd be up soon. Half the reason he'd agreed to come over tonight –half the reason he knew Coran had invited them- was because he knew, with the kids around, none of them would spend the evening dealing by themselves. Ian was grateful. "So, what can we do to help?"

* * *

The black letters on white paper in front of him began to blur. Not from drinking, though the ice in his glass was still tinged with bourbon, but from exhaustion. Rubbing his eyes, he reached for the bottle and tipped just a bit more into his glass. _I'll get this. I'll find you bastards._

"Calvin?"

Cal looked up from the coffee table in his living room, littered with work he had refused to leave behind, though he had waited until Charlie and Gloria were in bed before bringing it out.

Alyse stood at the bottom of the stairs in a nightgown and her soft green silk robe. Her expression was soft concern.

"Did you need something?" Cal asked, wincing at how rough his voice sounded. He'd been barking orders all day, and he wasn't sure he'd have a voice left by the end of the week. His hand paused, the bottle resting just back on the table.

"Are you going to come to bed?" she asked quietly. "It's almost one in the morning. The world isn't going to end if you don't solve this tonight."

Cal sat back, picking up his glass and running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Are you so sure?" he asked. "First Charlie's kidnapped. Now Sara's d…_dead._ We have two soldiers standing guard outside our house. When _will_ this end? Not until we find them, and end it." _Those bastards will know exactly what hit them. I want them to know who wrought vengeance. _He drank.

Alyse crossed the room and settled down next to him, her head resting against his upper arm as she hugged him. "Cal, it wasn't your fault."

The sudden blurring of the paper didn't have to do with exhaustion. Cal wiped his eyes, and finished the glass. Until she had spoken, he hadn't let himself think of it. He could have sent someone else. He _should_ have sent someone else. But no, Sara had been excited about the possibilities; she had put herself forward to go. He'd let her. If he had just made her stay home… and do her duties as head of the training program instead. "Damn it, 'Lyse… I can't let her have died for nothing. I know we can't bring her back, but there's no way in hell I'm going to let them get away with this, or go after any more of my friends… any more of the alchemists under my protection… or my family." He put his free arm around her and held her tight. His worst nightmares didn't compare to his waking fears the past twenty-four hours. They had already nearly killed Charlie. He wouldn't put anything past them. Cal had _seen_ Sara in her vulnerability and her strengths, and he had always seen her as nearly as untouchable as Fullmetal. Tough, and able to come through whatever was thrown her way, maybe not whole, but recoverable.

Salt mixed with the bite of whiskey on his tongue. He set the empty glass on the table and pulled Alyse into both his arms. "If I stop… I'll think about it too closely. Sara…" He wasn't sure how to explain what their friendship, as rocky as it had started, had really meant to him… let alone explain it to his wife.

But Alyse surprised him. Her eyes just as wet with tears, she looked at him, then kissed him, then hugged him back just as fiercely. "I understand," she replied in a hushed whisper. "Find them, and make them pay before they hurt anyone else. But that doesn't mean you can go without sleep."

Cal shook his head and kissed her again. "I love you."

**September 5****th****, 1982**

Ed and Winry had never gotten to Central quite so fast. They took the express train, deciding it would be safer than letting either of them drive in their current state of mind. In fact, they had left so quickly that they'd left the rest of the family still making arrangements for travel. Ed knew Resembool would be fine without Elrics for a few days, but Aldon had still had to make arrangements for being away while mayor. The rest of the family was about a day behind them.

It was late in the afternoon when they got off the train in Central. Ed grabbed their bags and followed Winry onto the platform. It only took a minute to find Ethan, waiting for them. His youngest son didn't look much better than the rest of the family felt. He hugged them both tightly. Ed wondered if Winry's return hug might not break Ethan in two. They were both hurting, but he had found Winry crying quietly more than once on the train ride.  
"How are things?" Ed asked his son as they walked out to the car.

"Funeral's scheduled for Sunday," Ethan explained. "Full military honors, the usual pomp and circumstance, everything she's earned. Headquarters is taking care of it, costs, everything. Sara comes home on tomorrow's train." He swallowed. "They'll take her to the military funeral home straight off to finish preparations."

Only two days. "Aldon, Cassie and everyone else will also arrive tomorrow," Ed said. "How's Franz?" He hadn't heard a single word from his son-in-law.

"Obsessed," Ethan replied as they put the suitcases in the car and got in. "He hasn't taken a minute off work, and I don't think he will until the Hashman Syndicate goes down. I haven't seen him, but Trisha and Roy and James are the only ones he's wanted to see really. Well and Rosa and Gabriel of course. You want to see him; you pretty much have to go over to the house and bang on the door or catch him at HQ."

"Then let's stop by there first," Winry suggested with a determined look. "I know Lia's expecting us for dinner, but maybe we can talk him into coming."

Ethan glanced at Ed, who snorted. "I'm with her on this one." Even if he wasn't so sure Franz would agree, he wanted to talk him too.

They drove over to the house, though as they pulled up outside, Ed felt a sudden constriction in his throat. He had been to this house before, when it had been a house of mourning. Gracia and Elicia had lived here with Maes Hughes, before his murder. The similarity made it more painful. _I wonder if he'll stay in the house. _

The building looked empty, though the car in the drive made it clear Franz was home. Ed began to wonder if he'd even open the door, but it did open very shortly after Winry rang the doorbell.

Sympathy tugged at Ed's heart as he looked into the face of his son-in-law. Franz looked as if he had aged ten years almost overnight, though he didn't look all that different beyond a clear lack of sleep. It was all in the eyes: the pain of loss, the fury of losing someone to untimely death, an unnatural death. But it was all behind a very tired, but genuine smile. "Ed, Winry. It's good to see you, though I wish the circumstances were different."

Winry enveloped him in a tight hug. "We all wish that," she replied. "How are you holding up?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose." Franz let her go. "Please, come in. No reason to stand around on the doorstep."

Polite as ever. Ed closed the door when they were all inside. He refrained from asking about the investigation right off. He was sure it would come up eventually either way. "That seems to be rather well, considering," he said instead, carefully feeling out the situation.

Franz gave him a knowing look. "Well I haven't gotten much sleep," he admitted. "But what else can I do? It would be an insult to Sara's memory to curl up in the dark and drink myself into oblivion. She'd have hated that. No. They've messed with the wrong family, twice now."

"So you're sure it's the Hashman Syndicate," Ethan asked.

Franz nodded. "There's enough evidence to make it a likelihood, even though it's not proven yet. They've gone after a family member, and now another alchemist, and one who's related and high profile. If they'd managed to get rid of Whitewater too, you can imagine the uproar. Tea?"

The offer was so abrupt it startled Ed. "Sure," he replied, only slightly startled by Franz's behavior. Ed couldn't blame him for throwing himself into his work, especially when that work allowed him the opportunity for justice, or at least, legal revenge. He had an outlet for his grief and rage, and that was a good thing. Sara had been the fiery one in that relationship, to see the ferocity that flashed momentarily behind Franz's eyes was startling.

"The security they've got on all of us is excellent," Ethan commented.

"Security?" Winry looked at her son, startled.

Franz nodded. "Sorry they didn't mention it. But everyone related to a high-ranking alchemist has a private security detail right now for safety sake, especially anyone related to our family, because of the first two targets."

It made sense, but it made Ed uneasy. "Damn it. It really is like Scar all over again," he grumbled. It was definitely unsettling when State Alchemists had to worry about their own loves, or the lives of their loved ones, just for existing. "Only they're working in a group."

"The guy on the corner with the small dog is a Lieutenant in security," Franz commented, turning on the hot water under the teapot. "And you had a vehicle tag all the way over I'll bet."

"And I didn't notice. Wow I'm losing my touch." Ed shook his head. He had seen the guy with the dog, but hadn't thought much of it. He hadn't been paying any attention to the cars on the road. Well, he wouldn't be that careless again. "Are you really expecting another attack so soon?" It had been months since the attempt on Charlie and Cal.

"Better safe," Franz shrugged. "Honestly, in my case I think they're afraid I'll pick up something semi-automatic and go hunting Syndicate members on my own."

"And you wouldn't?" Ethan asked with a wry smirk.

"I have a better chance of success from the office."

"And is that where you were going this evening?" Winry eyed him knowingly. Franz was still in uniform.

"That was my intent," Franz admitted with a shrug. "I thought I should have dinner first."

"Is this dinner?" Ethan commented with distaste as he reached into the kitchen and picked up what appeared to be a very cheap oven meal off the counter. "You should come over to my place. Lia's making Cretan chicken tonight and spinach pie."

Ed watched Franz's objection die before he even opened his mouth. "That sounds delicious," Franz said instead. "And far better than what I had for lunch."

"What did you have for lunch?" Winry asked as the tea pot began to whistle. She took it off the heat.

"A bagel."

"Just a bagel? Plain?" Ed asked.

"I was in a hurry."

_More like you weren't hungry. _But Ed didn't call him on it, he just nodded. "All the more reason to join us for one of Lia's delicious home-cooked meals. What are Trisha and Roy doing tonight?"

"They're at Maes and Elena's. I told Trisha I was working late to keep her from insisting on coming over and hovering over my shoulder to make sure I'm eating." Franz smiled tiredly. "She's quite the nag."  
_  
Just like her mother and her grandmother. _Ed nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat. "Someone's got to be."


	3. Chapter 3

**September 6****th****, 1982**

Darkness was no longer cozy and warm. For years, Franz had loved the night, because night time was when he and Sara had their time just to themselves, free of work and other duties, to snuggle, and love, and have long and interesting conversations until ludicrously early hours of the morning. Sleep had been a time of company and comfort.

Now darkness meant hours of lying awake, staring at the ceiling. Three days ago, he'd been anticipating Sara's return; not that she would be ripped out of his life forever by, of all things, a bullet, in a place where he couldn't protect her.

Not that she had ever really needed his protection. From the time they had met, she had been the one charging into danger and coming out on top. Even when she was injured, she never acted like she had nearly died. She had the same attitude her father had, one that made her seem invincible.

Except Franz knew better. He had watched her worry when the kids were small, and held her close when she worried about family. He had listened to her talk forever about her dreams and her nightmares, both in her mind and in reality.

After the Drachman War, things had quieted down so much. They'd both been promoted to much safer positions. Franz had gotten used to envisioning the two of them growing old together, like Ed and Winry, and Al and Elicia. Eventually retiring and having the time and money to enjoy the world they had helped bring peace to, and spoil their grandkids rotten.

Now he would do that alone.

Now, her side of the bed would always be empty. It was no longer temporary.  
Sleep was no longer restful.

When dawn came, he had dosed off a couple of times, but had not really slept and his head throbbed at the temples. Exhaustion was catching up with him. _It's unfair to have the head without the drinking._

He got up, and took the time to make oatmeal, though other than milk and sugar he didn't add much to it. He also made a pot of coffee. It was Saturday and today he wouldn't be going into the office. No. He had to meet Sara at the train.

Franz finished his food despite the fact it kept sticking in his throat. Then he went upstairs to pack. It took an unexpected amount of will to take Sara's Dress Uniform out of the closet, and lay it out with all of her rank insignia and awards. As always, everything was kept exactly where it was supposed to be. There wasn't even a hair on anything.

By the time he finished, his vision was blurring. _Damn it, Belle. I was the one crazy enough to follow Flame on his insane mission. All you did was visit a warehouse. _He had survived against all odds, had always driven himself to be her equal, to be a man she deserved. The fact that their kids were grown did not make the loss easier.

Too sudden.

Too soon.

Even when he took his time, when he was done preparing everything and had it neatly covered and ready to go, Franz was early to the train station. It was easier to lose himself in the crowd, let the noise wash over him and pretend that, for just a moment, when the train pulled in Sara would be coming down the way she should have two days ago, tired but exuberant about the amazing alchemical finds she had seen, kissing him warmly, then letting him whisk her away to a private dinner and a passionate evening.

The military car disembarked last, after the passengers had cleared the platform. First there were officers, and then a closed, unadorned casket. Franz froze and, for a moment, he couldn't see again. _Shit. Hold it together, Heimler. They're watching. _He was in civvies, but that didn't mean anything. They had to know who was standing there.

A towering, muscular man with thick blond hair, square chin, and face that looked like, usually, it had a ready smile came forward at the head of the procession, his face filled with regrets. "General," he saluted Franz. His voice was deep, with the same rumbling timber as the rest of the men in his family. "My sincerest sympathies."

"Colonel Armstrong." Franz nodded once. "Thank you for returning her safely home."

He followed the convoy to the funeral home the military employed specifically for state funerals. All officers were dressed and prepared there. Franz almost asked to see inside the casket, but something on Andrew Armstrong's face as he signed the paperwork said that Franz probably didn't want to see what the bullet, or the fire, might have done to his beautiful wife.

"This is everything," he told the funeral director. "I… please…"

"I treat everyone who comes through with the utmost care and respect," the slender older man said with an assuring smile. "My condolences, General."

"Thank you."

Franz handled his own end of the necessary paperwork, though there was little enough to do with the military handling most of the arrangements. When it was done, he stepped back out into the street. He felt… he wasn't sure how he felt; stuck and rushed and broken all at once. It was all too real, and yet surreal at moments, like he was going through motions to avoid the truth that, tomorrow, his beloved Sara was going to go into the dirt. There would be no alchemical miracles. There would be no last minute survivals. No surprise news.

It wasn't even mid-afternoon. If he wanted to, Trisha and Roy had let him know they would be taking the kids to play at Riza's with her dogs for a distraction. Ed and Winry were supposed to be meeting them there.

He turned the car in the opposite direction, heading for the park instead.

Right now Franz just couldn't bring himself to feel like company. He knew they were mourning the same loss; that they all felt it just as deeply, that his own family was arriving that evening for tomorrow's funeral, but for now, he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts. It was the only way left for him to be alone with Sara.

* * *

Just keep moving forward. That had been Ed's mantra for far longer than he really wanted to remember. So that was what he did, him and Winry both. Franz had asked to meet the train alone, and they had acceded to his request. Instead, they had spent the morning with Ethan and Lia and their kids, who seemed to be growing up far too quickly these days, and then had gone over to Riza's in the afternoon, and spent hours with Trisha and Roy and their little family, watching the kids romp with the dogs and talking. It had been easy to turn conversation to happy stories. They had talked about Sara all afternoon, and about family, and kept the mood as positive as possible.

Afterwards, he and Winry had returned to Ethan's, where Gracia, Al, and Elicia were also joining them for dinner. When they got back, Ethan was out, though Lia did not say why as she and Winry, assisted by Eamon and Lily, worked on dinner. The family from Resembool would be arriving on a late train.

Ethan returned only a few minutes before the rest of the crew was supposed to arrive.

"What were you up to?" Ed asked curiously. Ethan's face was as neutral of expression as it ever got.

Ethan glanced around and spoke in a low voice. "I went by the funeral home, at the director's request." He swallowed. "I… I saw Sara."

The inflection on _saw_ implied more than just the casket. "That bad?" Ed asked.

"Could have been worse. The fire didn't have a chance to do much damage. I used alchemy to repair her face. She… she just looks like she's resting now. I wish…"

"Don't even say it," Ed replied. He knew exactly what Ethan wished. It was what they all wished. That there was something they could do, as alchemists, to bring Sara back. Some way they could have gotten to her sooner and done something. _Anything_ but accept the loss.

Ethan nodded. "I know. I'm going to set the table."

"I'll help."

Dinner was much like the rest of the day, subdued, melancholy nostalgia, cushioned by the closeness of family. It was hard to get lost in misery surrounded by people he loved. And there were quite a few people he loved, now. Ed knew the younger version of himself would probably never have believed that he would feel so strongly and deeply about anyone outside of his brother and his mother… maybe Winry and Pinako, if he stretched it. He had given no thought to children, or grandchildren, to friends he could trust as close as family.

After everyone was stuffed full of good food, and the dishes cleaned up, Ed made his way out onto the back deck, and leaned against the railing. Across the decades, the sound of small dogs barking and a little girl's laugh came down on the wind. Sara, born in the chaos of Briggs, their first joy, a delight, always on her best manners. The memories blended and faded, one after another. Fishing Sara out of the river in Resembool, her little arm broken. Sara trying to get Aldon to toddle after her. Sara learning her first alchemy lessons, learning to spar. Endless birthday parties in this yard. Sara cuddling baby Ethan. Sara growing into a teenager. Sara after the Xing War, changed forever by her experiences, daring to speak up when she thought he was being stupid. Sara and her first boyfriend, Mars. Sara's State Alchemist exam. Sara in her purple coat. Sara in uniform. Sara moving into her own place. Sara coming home injured from missions… finding Franz in Sara's apartment in his shorts. Sara and Franz getting married here, in the back yard. Sara and her own baby girl.

An entire lifetime couldn't cram itself in his mind, but it tried, memory after memory rising unbidden, pushing the next one out in its insistence to be felt, and heard, and remembered.

"A lot of memories in this yard."

Ed didn't need to turn around to know Al was behind him. His brother's footsteps on the wood came up on his left, and Al leaned against the rail too. "There sure are," Ed agreed, wiping a stray tear on his sleeve before looking back at out the grass. "I can't decide if I should be relieved or horrified that losing my little girl hurts more than losing Mom." And yet, he wasn't at all inclined to do something supremely stupid with alchemy. "I haven't thought of her as a little girl in years…"

A look of pained understanding crossed Al's features. "I've been thinking the same thing," he admitted softly. "It doesn't matter that our kids are grown. When they're in danger, or hurt, or worse… it's like they're just babies all over again."

"And we'd do anything to protect them." Ed cleared his throat roughly. "I've known for years this kind of thing could happen. I was braced for it through every war we've fought in. But in the end… I don't think I ever really accepted the possibility I might outlive one of my children."

"Well that kind of stubborn attitude worked this long." Al smiled gently.

Ed couldn't help snickering. It was better than crying. "It did," he acknowledged. "I did everything I could for her, I'd like to think, including letting her do things her way." He had tried to let her make her own path, and not get in the way or let who he was get in the way.

"Any regrets?"

"About me, plenty. About Sara, no. At least, not in how we raised her." He would give almost anything to talk to her again. To see her, and hug her, and tell her he loved her. "The greatest things I have ever made weren't made with alchemy."

"Me neither," Al agreed, his smile broadening, "Though we might want to give Winry and Elicia some credit there too, Brother."

"Yeah, I suppose so."

The two brothers looked at each other and laughed through the tears.

**September 7****th****, 1982 **

The beautifully picturesque fall morning was almost completely wrong for a funeral. Soft mist, the colors in the trees just turning, cool air, warm sunshine; it was horribly unfair. If Ed closed his eyes, it wasn't a lovely autumn day. By the mood in the cemetery, it was raining on the hearts of many.

The family stood together, all of them. Even Minxia had managed to catch a rush train home, arriving at four that morning and standing now, still blinking, trying not to look sleepy next to Will, Ren, and her siblings.

Ed had been offered the chance to speak, but he had turned it down. He was glad, because as he listened to Marcus Kane speak about Sara's life and achievements, the knot in his throat was so big he could hardly swallow, and the unshed tears blurred his vision. He felt Winry beside him, and heard her soft sobs. He wrapped his arm more tightly around her shoulders.

There was no real way to sum up fifty-five years of so amazing a life, but Kane hit the high points, Ed had to admit. It was hard to watch while they lowered the casket and shoveled in the freshly turned earth. From where he stood, Ed had a clear view. He glanced sideways, watching Franz, who stood stock-still in full uniform, face composed except for the pain in his eyes. Trisha and Roy, both in uniform, stood beside him. Behind them, the rest of the family was arrayed. The youngest cried freely, or looked sad. They weren't the only ones crying, though most kept it inside. They'd had several days to get past the worst of it. Winry's were probably the strongest, and really, who would ever blame her?

_Goodbye, my girl. Say hi to everyone for me. _

When it was done, the crowd began to disperse, until the only ones left were family and –to Ed's surprise – the majority of the State Alchemists, and a lot of the students who were going through the program. It was a heartwarming display as, one by one, every alchemist transmuted a flower –some with more skill than others- and filed through, laying them on Sara's grave until the fresh earth was covered in blossoms.

"Hey, Fullmetal."

Ed turned and looked at Cal. Like the rest of them, he looked as if he hadn't slept in days. "What is it?"

"You too," Cal nodded to Al. "The Alchemists and a few other officers are having a send-off for Twilight at the pub this evening. A proper wake, if you will. Anyone in the family who wants to come is invited too, of course. Though I know it's not everyone's thing, and I don't know if I'll be able to talk Franz into coming."

Ed glanced over his shoulder at his son-in-law, who had moved forward to stand alone. "I'll talk him into it."

"Great. Meet up is at eight. Should give everyone time to get out of uniform after the reception and all that."

Ed was not looking forward to the funeral reception. He would much rather be at the pub later, where stories would be plentiful, potentially raucous, and the mood more reverent and uplifted than being told how sorry hundreds of people were for your loss.

"I'll see you then." Ed turned and walked toward Franz.

"I heard." Franz said as Ed stopped beside him.

"Then I don't have to break your arm to get you to show up?"

"I'd rather not," Franz admitted. "But I think Sara would have wanted me to go."

"Yeah, I think so too." Ed nodded. "Al and I are going. Come on, let's go inside and get the formalities over with."

"I'll be there in a minute."

Ed took one more look at the headstone. Yet another one he would visit when he came here from now on.

_Major General Sara Elric Heimler_  
_ The Twilight Alchemist_  
_ 1927-1982_

He turned to go. Franz knelt in front of the grave, and laid a bouquet of roses on top of the new pile. Ed didn't try to overhear the words, but it was hard not to.

"Don't worry, Belle," Franz whispered hoarsely. "I'll get them, every last one of them."

* * *

The pub was crowded to capacity with every out-of-uniform Amestrian alchemist and officer that could possibly cram inside the bar. Dark outside, the dim yellow lighting over the tables cast shadows, and reflected off the light haze of smoke at one end of the room.

The drinking had clearly already begun even before Ed arrived, though not everyone was drinking heavily. In truth, he was a little surprised at how many weren't. But then, Sara had never been the one to get drunk with the men.

A surprising number of family members had actually decided to come. Aside from Al and Franz, James, Roy, and Trisha had come, as well as Cal, Tore, Ted, and even Aldon and Ian.

"What are you doing here?" Ed asked Ethan.

Ethan gave him a look like he might be nuts. After all Sara was his sister. Then he grinned. "I'm here to keep the rest of you from getting alcohol poisoning."

"Very funny," Cal quipped beside them.

Ed ordered a brandy, transmuted out the alcohol, and took a sip as he noted that Kane was here too, along with Jean Stevens and, another only mild surprise, Maes Mustang.

"I couldn't miss this," Maes said when Ed greeted him. "I… I just had to be here."

"I understand." Maes didn't have to say anything else. Ed knew how many lives his daughter had touched. She had been the first girl Maes had been in love with, and his best friend, even if they had never ended up romantically involved.

The official beginning of things was marked only by Marcus Kane stepping into the middle of the small clearing in the middle of the room, and holding up his glass. Everyone got immediately quiet.

"It's been a rough month," Marcus said quietly. "First we lost Breda, who went out the hero we've always known he was, ever since he worked under Flame, back before the world changed, in days most of us can barely remember or will never know. And now…we've lost Twilight. Sara was, in many ways, the very best of us, everything a State Alchemist could ever strive to be, everything an officer could ever hope to be, and more. But I talked enough earlier. Tonight, there's just one rule, you have to share at least one really good story about Sara." Then he looked straight at Ed. "Fullmetal? I know you didn't want to speak earlier, but will you say something now, about Sara? She was your daughter, and you trained her."

This was a very different audience. Ed nodded, and stepped forward enough to be in the center. "She was my daughter," he said. "But everything she was beyond that, she should take the credit for herself. It was her own perseverance, tenacity, and talent that made her the person and alchemist she was. Give her guidance and she'd run with it, though sometimes in a completely unpredictable direction." That elicited chuckles. "And she was never afraid to tell you exactly what she thought, even if she knew you wouldn't like it. I could tell you a dozen of those stories, but I'd like to keep what little dignity I have left intact." Which got another round of chuckles, but no one asked him to tell. The older folks in the group probably knew exactly when in his life those conversations would have occurred.

When he stepped back, Maes stepped in, starting with a funny memory about Sara during their early State Alchemist days, which was followed by Cal, with a similar story, though it was one that ended on a touching note about how lucky he was she had ended up his good friend instead of killing him early.

Aldon and Ethan had millions of Sara stories, but Ed enjoyed the ones they chose; both memories from actual childhood, involving Sara's early alchemical mishaps, like the time she had turned Oscar, their white dog, orange by accident.

Ian surprised him with a particularly amusing but heartfelt recount of living with Sara and Franz when he'd first come to Central to start his acting career, and how much she had acted in place of his mother. His impression of her chewing him out left everyone in stitches… which was good, because Ed almost cried again.  
Roy's story was about the first time Sara caught him and Trisha kissing, for which Trisha smacked him in the arm, and then told a story about the time her mother caught Roy trying to transmute the casserole Sara was making for dinner into a pizza.

Some of the stories Ed had heard, but he was surprised by how many came from other State Alchemists, or occasionally a family member, that he hadn't. None of them shocked him; they were all so very Sara, but each story was a gift, another piece of his daughter to hold on to.

Franz, perhaps out of kindness –or perhaps because they didn't think they could get him to talk without a drink or two in him- was left until last. Ed watched his son-in-law step forward, adjust his glasses on his nose, and look across the way at no one in particular. "Thank you, everyone, for the reminder that, however we got here, what matters is that Sara lived, and she lived her life in every moment, and never wasted a second on might-have-beens or non-action. She was a force of personality who couldn't be stopped, who couldn't be tied down, but she gave those moments, all of them, selflessly to others. To the State, to her friends… to her family. I'm afraid my story isn't much of a story. The last time I talked to Sara, she told me that the thing she loved most about this job was the people, and then she reminded me to buy milk." That got a couple of chuckles. "I just hope her memory lives half as well and as vibrantly as she did." With that, he tipped his glass, and finished his drink.

The rest of the room saluted in reply and many did the same.

Kane stepped forward again. "I'd like to propose a toast, one which we are all far too familiar with, but deserves to be said, so we never forget." He raised his mostly empty glass. "To absent friends."

_Vibrant, and forever. _Ed lifted his glass with the rest. "To absent friends." 

* * *

_Author's Note 12/25/2013: Fin... *sniffles and hands out tissues.* Quite the drama for the holidays this year._

The shock and loss shall continue, but this particular story focus is here. Will feel this one for a long time. Apologies to anyone who didn't get an angst ridden grief scene from your particular favorite character or characters. Rest assured they all had them, however a lot of them would have been repetitively similar as far as reading and we could spend weeks in the misery. The ones that were put in were those that had the most to offer to the story at this particular time. Everyone felt the losses, and some of them are keeping that mourning more private in this short term. However, the effects shall be felt, clearly, for some time to come. The Hashman Syndicate will not get away with these attacks.

_I need to make sure to write something short and fluffy soon to make up for all the drama yet to come! Thank you all for your continued support and reading. :) _


End file.
